


Stuck On You

by squadrickchestopher



Series: Filthy Porn Fridays [8]
Category: The Avengers (Marvel) - All Media Types
Genre: Cockwarming, Dirty Talking Bucky Barnes, Dom/sub Undertones, Exhibitionism, Inappropriate Behavior, M/M, Multi, Safe Sane and Consensual, Semi-Public Sex, Sex Toys, Teasing, aro natasha
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-11-16
Updated: 2020-11-16
Packaged: 2021-03-09 20:54:28
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 5,409
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/27592340
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/squadrickchestopher/pseuds/squadrickchestopher
Summary: “I think you need tostopthinking,” Clint says, grinning, and he gets up, carefully picking his way over to Bucky. “Luckily, I know the cure for that.”Bucky raises an eyebrow, his breath catching a little in his chest. “You do, huh?”“Gonna suck your brains out through your dick,” Clint says. “Problem solved.”
Relationships: James "Bucky" Barnes/Clint Barton, James "Bucky" Barnes/Clint Barton/Natasha Romanov
Series: Filthy Porn Fridays [8]
Series URL: https://archiveofourown.org/series/1860367
Comments: 12
Kudos: 135
Collections: Clintucky Fried Bunnies, Winterhawk Bingo Round Two





	Stuck On You

**Author's Note:**

> finally getting back around to filling WHB squares! Scene 1 is for B4: specialty arrows. Scene 2 is just pure filth.

“What the fuck are you doing?”

Clint looks up from where he’s sitting next to his bow in a circle of arrows, labeling them with little sticky notes. “Hey,” he says, smiling. “Nice to see you too.”

“Hi,” Bucky amends. “Sorry. Hello. How are you?”

“I’m fine,” Clint says. “I’m labeling arrows.” He holds one up. “Net arrow.” Reaches for another. “Acid arrow.” Another. “Putty arrow.”

“Putty arrow?” Bucky leans against the wall.

“Sticks things to other things.”

“How is that useful?”

“How is that _not_ useful?” Clint grabs his bow and looses the arrow at him, so fast that Bucky doesn’t have time to react. The arrow explodes on contact, covering his metal hand with some kind of grey goo, pinning it to the wall. “See?”

“I guess,” Bucky says, and starts to pull his hand away. Except it doesn’t move. He strains hard, and the plates whir in protest. He manages to get maybe half an inch off the wall before it’s slammed back down. “What the fuck—”

“See?” Clint nocks another arrow, and pins his other hand. “Useful.”

“Fine.” Bucky tugs again. “How does it come off?”

“It doesn’t,” Clint says, and grins as Bucky scowls at him. “I’m kidding. I have the antidote. Or it’ll break down in a few hours, either one. That Parker kid helped me design it.”

“Very nice,” Bucky admits. “Okay. It’s cool. Let me out, please.”

Clint tilts his head, studying him, eyes suddenly bright with mischief. “I could,” he says. “Or…”

“Or…” Bucky echoes. “What—I know that look, what are you thinking?”

“If you know my look, why do I have to tell you what I’m thinking?”

“Because if you’re thinking what I think you’re thinking—”

“I think you need to _stop_ thinking,” Clint says, grinning, and he gets up, carefully picking his way over to Bucky. “Luckily, I know the cure for that.”

Bucky raises an eyebrow, his breath catching a little in his chest. “You do, huh?”

“Gonna suck your brains out through your dick,” Clint says. “Problem solved.”

“I think that sounded less hot than you meant it to.”

“See, there you go with that thinking thing again.” Clint kisses him, then slowly gets on his knees. “Why don’t you just relax for me, huh?”

Bucky looks at the door. It’s late at night, he’s pretty sure no one else is awake in the tower. But they’re in the training room, which is decidedly not private, and there’s a slim chance someone could get a late-night training bug and walk in—

Clint leans forward, mouthing at Bucky over his pants. “I’ll stop if you want,” he says. “You know how.”

Bucky does know how. They have safe words, both of them. Have since the first time they tentatively stumbled into bed, a little confused and a lot drunk, all fumbling hands and laughter and _why the fuck have we waited so long_. He could say it and Clint would get up, let him off the wall, no questions asked.

Except Bucky doesn’t want that, because he’s also _really_ fucking turned on.

They’ve talked about this, to some extent. Bucky wouldn’t call it exhibitionism—he’s not really interested in fucking Clint in front of a crowd or anything—but he likes the little thrill of danger that comes with the potential of getting caught. Likes the way it makes his heart beat a little faster.

Clint sits back on his heels, waiting for an answer. There’s a little smirk curving his lips, but a hint of softness in his eyes. An open invitation. An understanding.

“Well?”

“Get on with it,” Bucky says, and it would sound like an order if his voice wasn’t so flooded with arousal. As it is, he just sounds desperate.

Clint, to his credit, doesn’t comment. He just does exactly as Bucky asks, opening his pants and swallowing him down before Bucky can really even process what’s happening. “Fuck,” he mutters, and tips his head back. Clint’s done this a thousand times for him, and he’ll never get over the feeling. Beyond even just the physical sensation—there’s a _care_ to the way Clint blows him, mixed with an enthusiasm and an understanding of Bucky’s body, all the spots that make him tick. Clint never fails to make him feel somehow dirty as hell, while also making him feel precious as heaven, and it’s something Bucky will never, _ever_ take for granted.

He groans as Clint drags his tongue down his cock, sucking and licking at his balls before wrapping a hand around him. “I missed this,” he says, moving his hand _just_ slowly enough to be maddening. “You know how long it’s been since I sucked your dick?”

“Less than a day?”

“Has not,” Clint says, then tilts his head. “Oh. Guess it has.”

Bucky snorts, unable to keep his hips still. “You got me off this morning, doll. Remember?”

“Course I remember,” Clint says. “I remember you holding me down on it.” He grins. “I liked that. Too bad you can’t do it right now.” The grin gets wider. “I can do whatever I want to you, can’t I?”

“You can,” Bucky agrees, and lowers his voice. “Might regret it later, though.”

Clint visibly hesitates for a moment, something that amuses Bucky to no end. Then he shrugs. “Worth it.” He kitten-licks at the tip of Bucky’s dick, snickering as Bucky tries to push his hips forward more. “Hey. Hold still.”

“Make me,” Bucky says, echoing Clint’s usual answer to an order. He’s expecting Clint to press his hands against him, pin him to the wall, then keep teasing him. He’s looking forward to it, honestly—as much as he likes Clint begging and crying underneath him, he also loves the moments when Clint takes over, flashes that crooked smile and just does what he wants with Bucky.

Instead, Clint pulls off entirely and stands up, walking over to his bow.

“What are you doing?” Bucky asks, raising an eyebrow.

“Whatever I want.” Clint picks up one of the arrows, a green-flagged one, and nocks it. “You trust me, right?”

“Of course,” Bucky says. “But—”

Clint shoots him. It’s another putty arrow, exploding on contact, and that grey goo oozes over his stomach and chest, pinning him flat against the wall.

“Oh, you little fucker,” Bucky hisses, struggling against it. “I’m—you’re gonna regret this _so_ much—”

“I know,” Clint says, firing two more in quick succession, pinning Bucky’s feet to the wall. “Gonna have to give me a _real_ good spanking or something.”

Bucky tries again in vain to free himself. “If you wanted a spanking, you could’ve just asked me, honey.”

“But it’s so much more fun to _earn_ them.” Clint sets the bow down and comes back over. He kisses Bucky, careful not to touch the goo. It’s filthy and heated, and Bucky gets so wrapped up in it that he nearly misses the whispered, “Color?”

“Green,” Bucky whispers back, chasing his mouth.

There’s an answering smile, and then Clint sinks back down to his knees. “So,” he says. “Remember that one time you tied me up and made me cry for it?”

“Gonna have to be specific,” Bucky drawls. “I do that a lot.”

“Mmm,” Clint agrees. “Guess I got a lot to make up for, then.” He puts his hands on Bucky’s thighs, palming appreciatively over the muscles. “Goddamn tree trunks,” he mutters, and then leans forward, sucking Bucky into his mouth like it’s the only thing he’s ever wanted to do.

“Motherfuck,” Bucky says, letting out a shaky breath. He tips his head back, fixes his eyes on the ceiling. He’s not going to last long, he’s so goddamn wired for touch right now—

“Gonna make you ask permission to come,” Clint says, rubbing himself over his pants. “Get you begging real nice and pretty for me.”

“Can I—”

“Really know how to boost a guy’s ego, don’t ya?” Clint rubs his thumb just under the head, making sparks flash across Bucky’s vision. “No. Not yet. I’m havin’ fun.”

“Fuck,” Bucky mutters. “And how long is this fun gonna last?”

“Wouldn’t _you_ like to know?” Clint grins up at him, then gets back to work.

It lasts a _long_ time. Or at least, it feels like it lasts a long time. For all Bucky knows, it could be minutes, or hours, or fucking _years._ His world is narrowed to these few points—the wall behind him, and the sinful heat of Clint’s mouth around his dick, and the way his own chest is heaving, trying to breath in air that suddenly seems too thin.

“You look _wrecked,_ ” Clint says after a while, blinking up at him, all innocent and wide-eyed. _Little fucker._

“I—” Bucky shivers, straining against the goo holding him. “I’m going— _fuck_ —you’re in so much—oh my _god_ —”

“Should’ve put on lipstick,” Clint says absently. “Could’ve marked you up all pretty, see where my mouth’s been on you.”

Bucky nearly dies at the thought, feeling like he’s going to spontaneously combust at the image of Clint’s mouth rimmed in red, leaving imprints on Bucky’s skin. He’s so distracted by it that he almost doesn’t register the “Come for me,” that Clint whispers as he bites along Bucky’s thigh.

“ _Ahhh_ , _”_ he groans, and then he’s coming, eyes closing involuntarily as he comes. He sags against the wall, absurdly grateful for the goo. If it wasn’t holding him up, he’d be falling face first to the floor.

“Thought you were gonna make me beg,” he says weakly, once he remembers what words are.

“I was,” Clint agrees. “But then I decided to have mercy. I’m nice like that.” He kisses a line up Bucky’s thigh. “How ya feeling? Still thinking too much?”

“Thinking about spanking your ass,” Bucky says. “Get me out of this shit.”

Clint sighs in mock disappointment, tucking Bucky back into his pants. “I just gave you a gold star blowjob, and you threaten me with pain and punishment. So rude, Bucko.”

“You were the one talking about earning it,” Bucky says. “I can only assume you want me to deliver.”

“Oh, I do. But right now I think you should thank me for sucking your brains out through your dick, and then I think we should go cuddle and watch _Die Hard._ ” He bats his eyelashes at Bucky, then adds a “Please” in a sugar sweet voice before flashing a smile.

God, Bucky’s such a sucker for his smiles.

“Thank you,” he says.

“For what?”

“I ain’t saying more,” Bucky laughs. “You got your thank you, quit being a brat.”

“Guess you’re staying there, then,” Clint says, grinning at him.

Bucky shakes his head. “You think you’re cute.”

“I think I’m adorable.”

Bucky holds his gaze for a moment, trying to be stern. Except it’s kind of a lost cause against that smirk, and after a moment, he sighs. “Thank you for sucking my brains out through my dick.”

“Anytime, baby,” Clint purrs, and gets to his feet. “Lemme get the stuff.”

“You’re in so much trouble,” Bucky warns him.

“Good,” Clint says, and kisses him. “Wouldn’t have it any other way.”

* * *

Bucky does get his revenge, a few days later, and Clint’s still feeling it the next morning when he comes into the lounge. He goes straight for the fridge, grabbing the carton of orange juice, then vaults over the couch with it and sprawls onto the cushions. “Hey, you.”

“Use a glass,” Natasha sighs. “Were you raised in a barn?”

“You know full well I was raised in a circus,” Clint says, but he obediently gets up and troops back over to the kitchen. He digs out a glass and pours some. “You want?”

“No.” She’s looking at him, a slight smirk quirking her mouth. “You and Bucky doing movie night?”

“Planning on it.” He puts the carton back. “Why? You got ideas?”

“Maybe,” she says.

There’s a look in her eye, one that instantly sends a flash of heat through him. Natasha and Clint have been friends for a long time, longer than he really cares to remember. He’d thought at one point they might be more, but when he’d brought it up to her, she’d instantly shot it down.

“I don’t do love,” she’d said. “I don’t need it, I don’t want it. You try and _romance_ me, and I’ll stab you.”

To which Clint had said, “Fair,” because that was pretty much the only response he _could_ say.

“Doesn’t mean I don’t want to fuck on occasion,” she’d clarified. “Just means I don’t want the rest of it. You okay with that?”

“Course I am,” Clint said. “Why wouldn’t I be?”

She’d shrugged. “People aren’t, sometimes. I’ve had…experiences.”

“Did you stab them?”

“Maybe.” She’d smiled, quiet and mysterious, and Clint had made a mental note to never get on her bad side. Which technically he’d noted the first time he met her, but it never hurt to have extra reminders.

That had been their dynamic for a long time. Then Bucky had shown up, and Clint had fallen in love pretty much the first second he watched him murder-stride into the tower, furious and grumpy and sexy as fuck. There’d been the usual growing pains, and the usual awkward miscommunications, and a couple extra weird things because he’s Clint Barton and he’s incapable of being normal.

But they’d figured it out, eventually. Clint and Bucky are a thing, and when Nat gets the itch to play, she just lets them know, and they work her in. No feelings, just sex. It’s odd, maybe, but it’s theirs, and they make it work.

And Nat is creative, too, which Clint loves about her. So when she says, “Maybe,” and arches an eyebrow, Clint’s mouth goes dry in anticipation.

“Do I get to know?”

“There’s a box on your bed,” Nat says.

Clint nods. “For me or for him?”

“Oh, I think Bucky’s got other plans for you tonight.” She smiles again, and gets up, moving closer. “So he can have it.”

“Were you guys talking about me?”

“I texted him this morning.”

“I don’t get to know?”

“You can know about the box. You’ll have to ask Bucky for the rest.”

“Naaaat,” Clint whines. “Tell me.”

“Nope.” She kisses him. “Talk to your boyfriend. I’ll see you tonight.”

Except then there’s work calls, and things to do, and people to annoy, and Clint doesn’t get a chance to talk to Bucky until he comes into the lounge a little before they’re all supposed to meet up.

“Hi,” Clint says, peeking over the top of the couch. “I missed you today.”

“Sorry.” Bucky smiles at him. “It’s been…it’s been a day.” He comes around the couch and sits next to Clint, manhandling him onto his lap like he doesn’t weigh a damn thing. “But I have you now, so it’s better.”

Clint can’t stop the faint flush of happiness that creeps up his face. “Aww. Makin’ me feel all kinds of fuzzy here, Bucko.”

“It’s the truth.” Bucky kisses him. “Wanna do something fun tonight?”

“Like?” Clint gestures at the television. “It’s movie night.”

“Yeah.” Bucky slips his fingers under the waistband of Clint’s pants. “Doesn’t mean we can’t have fun.”

Clint grins against his mouth. “I knew I liked you for a reason,” he says.

“You like me for lots of reasons,” Bucky counters, and his metal fingers slide into Clint. They’re already slick with lube, and Clint would ask _how,_ but he’s too busy being distracted by Bucky’s fingers, and his mouth, and his everything, really _._ “This is just one of them.”

“Hnngh,” Clint says, which isn’t _really_ an answer.

Bucky snickers into his ear. “Color?”

“Parakeet,” Clint mumbles, eyes closing as he grinds down onto Bucky’s fingers.

“That’s not a color, love.”

“Is too. It’s green.”

“What? Really?”

“You want a color wheel?”

“I want you to give me a straight answer.” His other hand comes up to cover Clint’s mouth. “If you make a joke about not being straight, I’m not touching you for the rest of the night.”

Clint licks his hand, then laughs as Bucky pulls it away with an annoyed noise. “Green,” he says.

He doesn’t add the joke. He wants to, but Bucky follows through on his promises, and Clint _really_ wants whatever he’s got planned. Bucky waits a moment, eyebrows raised, then pats his cheek. “That’s a good boy.”

There’s a rush of heat at those words, a Pavlovian tightening in his gut. Bucky grins, like he knows _exactly_ what just happened, and pulls his fingers out. “Tissues. Blanket.” He gestures to the other end of the couch.

Clint gets off him on shaking legs and grabs both. Bucky reaches into the couch cushions and pulls out a little bottle of lube, then opens his pants. “Come here,” he says, wiping his hand off with a tissue. Clint starts to get on his knees, and Bucky shakes his head. “Nope. You’re gonna sit on it.”

“But—”

“Problem?”

“The team,” Clint says, gesturing. “Movie night.”

“You can say no.” Bucky holds his gaze. “You can always say no.”

He can. He knows he can. They’ve been doing this a long time, the two of them, and he knows the limits and safe words they have in place. Used them, even, on a couple occasions.

 _This_ is new, admittedly, but he’s definitely interested. He’s not exactly into showing off, but the idea of sitting on Bucky’s dick for an entire movie, being edged without really edging—

“I’m not saying no,” Clint says. “I just want to know the parameters. Also, Nat said—“

“Nat’s playing too, don’t worry about her.”

“What’s she doing?”

“Did you look in the box?”

Clint shakes his head. “Didn’t have time.”

“Vibrator. Remote control. Very fancy.”

“And you—“ Clint looks at Bucky. “Is she trying to kill us?”

“Possibly,” Bucky admits. “I can’t tell with her sometimes.”

“Do you have it in now?”

“Yes.”

“So what, the plan is—”

“You’re gonna sit on my dick, and she’s gonna do whatever she’s gonna do to me, and probably both of us are going to be a wreck by the end of it.”

Clint’s already half-hard at the prospect of it. He spends most movie nights on Bucky’s lap, it’s not going to be unusual for him to be there tonight. And then with Nat participating too—

“Okay,” he says. “I’m in. Green. All good. Let’s do this.” He reaches for Bucky, then pauses. “Why do you get me _and_ the vibrator? That seems unfair.”

“Because last time I sat in your lap, you told me I was “stupidly heavy for one person” and complained the entire movie. Also, I have more self-control than you do. You wouldn’t last ten seconds like this.”

Clint would argue, but he’s got a point. “Fair on both counts. You _are_ stupidly heavy.”

“I have a metal arm, darlin’.”

“Yeah, and—”

“Shut up and sit on my dick before people come in here.”

Clint shuts up and sits on his dick, letting Bucky move him so they’re spooning lengthwise on the couch, legs tangled together. Bucky barely gets the blanket in place before Bruce comes into the room with Tony, both of them heatedly debating something too complex for Clint to follow even if he _didn’t_ have a dick up his ass.

“You look comfy,” Tony says, raising an eyebrow.

“We are,” Bucky says, and Clint bites back a noise as he shifts a little. “What are we watching?”

“I don’t know.” Tony tosses the remote to them. “Pick something.”

The toss doesn’t make it the whole way, and the remote lands on the floor. Bucky chuckles quietly. “Best pick that up, sweetheart.”

“Fuck you,” Clint says, but he knows they need to keep up appearances. So he leans forward and grabs it, choking slightly at the feeling of Bucky sliding out of him a little. “Oh—”

The rest of the team trickles in. Nat’s the last one—she settles herself on the far end of the couch and raises an eyebrow at them, a hint of a smile on her face. Clint manages to pawn the remote off onto someone else, and then all he has to do is lay there and hold still. Pretend his boyfriend isn’t balls-deep in him, forcing him to hold still, slowly driving him _insane_.

 _Normal Tuesday night things_ , he thinks, fighting back an hysterical giggle.

His phone buzzes, and he manages to fumble it out from under the blanket without dislodging it, squinting at the screen. He flicks his eyes to Natasha, then opens their group chat.

**Raggedy Ann** : Having fun?

 **Metal-armed Bastard** **< 3:** yes

 **Archer Extraordinaire** : are you trying to kill us

 **Raggedy Ann** : Just a bit. Colors?

 **Archer Extraordinaire:** green

 **Metal-armed Bastard** **< 3: **green

 **Raggedy Ann** : Good. I’ll check in.

Clint has no fucking clue what they’re watching. His breath is coming in short, quick pants, and he’s so turned on he can barely see straight. Bucky is right. He has no self-control. He’s going to spontaneously combust halfway through this movie, and it’s going to be all Bucky’s fault, the sadistic _bastard._ How the fuck is Clint supposed to just _sit_ here—

Bucky hisses in a breath, shifting against him, and Clint sees sparks behind his eyelids. “Fuck—”

“You okay?” Steve asks.

“Fine,” Clint manages. “Just lost a Tetris game.”

“We’re supposed to be watching a movie,” Steve chides. “Team bonding. Put your phone away.”

“Sorry.” He doesn’t put it away, just turns the brightness down and tucks it a little more under the blanket. Steve narrows his eyes, but doesn’t comment any further.

Bucky’s breath hitches a little behind him. “She’s—” he murmurs, and Clint fights back a moan as he moves again. He fumbles his phone into his hand.

**Archer Extraordinaire** : STOP MOVING

 **Metal-armed Bastard** **< 3: **I’M NOT TRYING TO

 **Raggedy Ann** : :)

 **Archer Extraordinaire** : we’re going to get caught

 **Raggedy Ann** : not if you keep quiet

 **Raggedy Ann:** check in

 **Archer Extraordinaire** : chartreuse

 **Raggedy Ann:** I’m impressed that you can spell that AND you know what it means

 **Archer Extraordinaire:** fuck you woman, I’m very

 **Archer Extraordinaire:** BUCKET STOP MOVING

 **Metal-armed Bastard** **< 3: **fuck I’m sorry

 **Metal-armed Bastard** **< 3: **green

Bucky noses into Clint’s hair, his own breathing just as erratic. “Clint,” he mutters, and he sounds wrecked as hell. “Shit.”

“You okay?”

“Mmm.” He shifts again, hips twitching. The motion rocks him right into Clint’s prostate, and it feels _so fucking good_ that Clint only barely manages to bite back a whimper. It’s like every nerve in him is dialed up, oversensitive and strung-out. He can feel _everything_ —the blanket, the couch, Bucky pressed up behind him, fingers spasmodically clenching on Clint’s waist.

Bucky shudders, and Clint does too, like a little feedback loop. “ _So fucking tight,_ ” Bucky whispers in his ear, the rough Russian words making Clint shiver even more. “ _Feels so good on my dick, you have no_ —” he stops on a hitched breath, rolling his hips a little “— _no fucking idea.”_

Clint grits his teeth, holding back another whimper. “Yeah?”

“ _Want to flip you over,”_ Bucky mutters, sliding his hand underneath the blanket, fingertips barely ghosting over Clint’s dick. “ _Fuck you into this couch until you’re screaming for it. You’re already wet, wouldn’t even take long_ —”

“Oh my god,” Clint says, unable to stop himself. He’s going to die. This is it. He’s going to die right here, with a dick up his ass, and his boyfriend whispering filthy things in his ear, holy _shit_ —

Steve sits up. “Barton? You okay?”

“Movie,” Clint says, gesturing to it, blinking back tears. He has no idea what’s happening in it, but that’s the safest answer. “It’s just—wow, you know?”

Steve looks at the screen, where a woman is casually picking flowers in a field, and then back at him. “Okay? Sure.”

Bucky snickers in his ear. “Keep it together,” he says, suddenly sounding so casual. “You need to stop?”

Clint tightens around him, just to be an asshole, and gets a choked noise in response. “ _I can take it,”_ he mutters. “ _Can you?”_

**Raggedy Ann** : having fun?

 **Archer Extraordinaire:** you’re evil

 **Archer Extraordinaire:** what did we do to deserve this

 **Archer Extraordinaire:** also green

 **Metal-armed Bastard** **< 3: **green **.** And what DID we do

 **Metal-armed Bastard** **< 3: **seriously

 **Raggedy Ann** : “I can take anything you throw at me, Natasha.”

 **Archer Extraordinaire:** YOU BAITED HER

 **Archer Extraordinaire:** THIS IS YOUR FAULT

 **Metal-armed Bastard** **< 3: **…yes

Clint turns and buries his face in the couch. “Motherfucker,” he hisses.

“Sorry.”

“No, you’re not.” Clint flicks his eyes over to Steve. They’re whispering, but Steve’s got super-soldier hearing, just as much as Bucky does, and he’s casting odd looks at them when the movie hits slower intervals. _Shit, does he know—_

“I’m not,” Bucky agrees. He tugs Clint a little more into him, pressing his cock even deeper, and puts his lips right by his ear. _“You cryin’ for it yet, sweetheart?”_

“ _Fuck you,”_ Clint chokes out as Bucky grinds into him. “ _Stop teasing me—”_

_“Why? You gonna come?”_

Clint shakes his head. His vision is hazy. He can’t see the television screen, can barely see his own hand in front of his face, shakily gripping his phone like it’s the only solid thing he can feel.

“ _Better not,”_ Bucky warns in his ear, lazily grinding into him, thumb swiping over the head of his cock. “ _You know you can’t stay quiet. Don’t want to let our friends know how desperate you are.”_ Clint shakes his head again, and Bucky chuckles. “ _No? You’re not desperate?”_

Clint swallows hard and closes his eyes. It takes a couple deep breaths before he’s got a tenuous grasp on control. He can’t _do_ anything to get Bucky back—best move he’s got is to clench around him, and all it does is remind him of the fact that he’s got a rock-hard cock in his ass and he can’t do a goddamned thing about it right now.

“ _You are, though,”_ Bucky whispers to him. “ _Making a mess all over everything.”_ He rubs his fingers over the tip of Clint’s cock, then moves it up to Clint’s mouth. “ _See?”_

Clint opens his mouth, licking himself off Bucky’s fingers. “ _Good boy,”_ Bucky rumbles in his ear. “ _Clean it all up._ ”

Clint nods, fingers still in his mouth, and looks at Natasha. She’s watching them, eyes bright. He doesn’t know if she can hear them, but she can probably get the gist of it. And she clearly loves it, judging from the amused smile. Clint wonders sometimes how he ended up with two sadistic assholes for a best friend and a boyfriend.

 _Probably because you give off sub vibes within a ten-mile radius,_ he thinks, and fights back another hysterical giggle. _Because you fucking love this, and you know it._

Nat checks in one more time. Clint doesn’t really have the brain cells to type, so he just flashes a weak thumbs-up, and sees her nod in response.

The movie finally ends a million years later, credits rolling to some sad tune, and Steve stretches. “It’s late,” he says, looking around. “We got an early day tomorrow. We should all get to bed.” He looks down at Clint, concern suddenly in his eyes. “Barton? You okay?”

Behind him, Natasha flashes a wicked grin. Bucky suddenly jolts against Clint, who manages to turn his yelp of surprise into a sneeze-cough combination that probably fools no one. “I’m fine,” he manages, forcing himself to look at Steve. “It was a very moving…movie.”

“It was a zombie movie,” Tony says. “People died. Gruesomely.”

“And I’m sad about it,” Clint says. “Leave me alone. I have emotions.”

Bruce grabs Tony’s arm, muttering something about calculations, and tugs him away. Steve hesitates for a moment, looking like he wants to say something, then shakes his head and follows them.

“He knows,” Clint says as soon as they’re out of earshot. “He definitely knows.”

Nat stretches, offering them both a grin. “How you boys doing?”

Bucky’s hand is death-gripping Clint’s hip—he’s going to have bruises tomorrow—and his voice is strained, desperate. “Natasha, _please_ —”

“You gonna come?” she asks, almost clinical, like she doesn’t really care. “You can, if you want.”

“Fucking _finally,_ ” Bucky mutters, and then he’s moving. Clint’s world tilts, his limbs loose and pliable as Bucky does what he promised he’d do a half-hour ago—he flips them over and fucks Clint into the couch. There’s no teasing now, no dirty talk—it’s just brutal efficiency, and somehow that’s hotter than anything else. Bucky is just _using_ him, and it’s just—

“Can I?” he gasps, except it comes out as more of a slur of noise than anything else, orgasm prickling along his skin, setting his nerves on fire. “ _Tasha_ —”

“I suppose,” she says, and that’s all it takes. Clint comes with a muffled shout, shoving his face down into the cushions, utterly _consumed_ by the intensity of it.

He floats for a while after that, hazily aware of Bucky pressed up against him, murmuring nonsense things in his ear. A cool hand strokes along his arm, grounding and soothing, and Clint lets that pull him back to reality. He cracks an eye open to see Natasha smiling at him, and she rubs her thumb over the back of his hand. “Hi.”

“Hey,” he mumbles. “Am I dead?”

“Not yet,” she says, patting his head.

Bucky makes a grumbling noise and shifts a little bit. He’d pulled out at some point, and Clint feels oddly bereft without it, clenching down around nothing. He shivers and turns a little, and Bucky kisses him. “Do you want?” he asks tiredly, then rolling his head back towards Natasha. “I can—”

“I’ll take care of me,” she says. “I just wanted to watch that.” She smirks. “It looked good.”

Clint nods, and Bucky makes another grumbling noise of agreement. Natasha sighs and gets up, disappearing for a moment before coming back with two glasses of water. “Drink. You’re both dehydrated.”

“Aw,” Clint says, sitting up a little as Bucky takes both of them. “You really do love us.”

“If I did feel anything like that,” she says, brushing his sweat-damp hair out of his eyes, “it would be for you boys.” She pats his cheek and walks away, heading towards the elevator.

Bucky exchanges a tired look with Clint, then presses the glass into his hand. “She’s right. Drink.”

“We have to wash this blanket,” Clint says. “We defiled it. So much.”

“We did. Was it okay, though? All green?”

“Dude, that was the greenest I’ve ever been in my life.” He flashes a lazy grin at Bucky. “I love that kinda shit. You know I love that kinda shit.” His spine makes a satisfying crack as he pops it. “I’d be down to do it again. Do _you_ feel okay?”

“I do,” he agrees. “Come on, darlin’. Drink your water. We need to get you to bed.”

“Shower first,” Clint says.

“Fair.”

They shower together, washing in a routine that’s as familiar as breathing. Then they climb into bed, tossing the blanket into the laundry. Clint sprawls on top of Bucky, earning himself an annoyed grunt and a fond kiss on the head as Bucky readjusts him.

Then Bucky laughs and holds up his phone. “Steve says he would prefer if we keep our illicit activities away from movie nights.”

Clint snickers. “Does he know?”

“I think he has suspicions.”

“Did you tell him it was Nat’s idea?”

“No, I just said we were very sorry and we won’t do it again.”

“That’s a lie. You are _lying_ to Captain America. I think that’s either a sin or a felony.”

Bucky snorts. “Something like that. But it’ll make him feel better.” He reaches over and drops his phone on the nightstand, flicking off the lamp. “Besides, I walked in on him and Tony once going at it in the lab. He has no legs to stand on when it comes to public sex.”

Clint snorts. “Nice.” He tucks his head into Bucky’s shoulder. “Gonna hold that over his head now.”

“Please do,” Bucky mumbles. “Boy thinks he’s head and shoulders above the rest of us.”

“We’ll show him,” Clint says. “Drag him down to our level.”

“Damn right.” Bucky pats his arm. “Night, doll.”

“Night,” Clint murmurs, and lets himself drift.

**Author's Note:**

> I'm on [tumblr!](https://feedmecookiesnow.tumblr.com/)
> 
> Bêta'ed as always by the lovely [clintscoffeepot](https://archiveofourown.org/users/clintscoffeepot/pseuds/clintscoffeepot). Thank you!


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